Verity, accustomed though he was to interrogations, had never expected to see a man of Bull-Peg's physique shaking so visibly. The cropped head nodded and the voice began to croak. Several minutes later, Verity beamed down on his terrified protégé’
'Why!' he said proudly. 'Mother, father, brothers and sisters never been a better friend to you than I been this morning!'
‘I don't care to see a man broke in such a fashion, that's all,' Crowe remarked with dignity, as though concluding the discussion.
'No more don't I, Mr Crowe. But then, I had to choose between that creature in his cell and Miss Jolly getting the hiding of her life from Lieutenant Dacre, and a noose round her neck or a knife in her belly to follow it. A man gotta have a sense of values in such things, Mr Crowe.'
The tail-board of the wagon, its hinges well-oiled, had been let down. A dozen armed officers in rope-soled shoes eased themselves silently down and moved like ghosts in the darkness towards the grand entrance-gate of the villa garden. There had hardly been time to locate the house from Bull-Peg's description before the hour stipulated in Dacre's note. Yet this suited Verity's purpose.
'I want to catch him there, if I can, Mr Crowe. And if he's going to put paid to that young doxy between eight and midnight, no sense in us frightening him off before by showing a whole regiment of Marines around the place, is there?'
Captain Oliphant and several men were already in position, standing at a distance from the imposing house but well able to survey the exits and entrances.
'Nothing,' said Oliphant as Verity and Crowe approached him. 'No movement, no sign of life, not a glimmer of light. I begin to fear, sergeant, that our client Bull-Peg sold you a pup.'
Verity frowned.
‘ 'e didn't look as if he was doing that, did he, Mr Crowe? Why, bless you, sir, 'e almost bust himself trying to be helpful when we put the matter to him good and straight.'
Oliphant shrugged, as if the affair were no concern of his. Behind its screen of trees and beyond the semi-circular sweep of the sandy drive, rose the darkened facade of River Gate. Verity could just make out Tudor casements and chimneys in red brick. The outline of the house suggested the front of an Oxford college, absurdly scaled down, with a squat and square little tower above the main door, and a pair of wings which hardly projected more than ten feet from the front wall of the building.
With Crowe at his side, he moved soundlessly across the springy turf of the well cared-for lawn. The windows of the ground floor were uncurtained and he could just make out the interiors as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Not only were the rooms unoccupied at the moment, they gave every sign of having been recently stripped of their contents. Bare floorboards and dusty walls met his gaze on every side. He turned to Crowe and spread out his hands in incomprehension. At the back of his mind was a growing anxiety that Dacre had foreseen the discovery of his hiding place and would have evacuated it in ample time. If that were so, Jolly's last hours would be spent at the hands of a tormentor, far beyond any help that her rescuers could bring.
Verity cursed himself for having pinned everything on the hope that Dacre would still be at his riverside mansion. Of course the cracksman would know that Bull-Peg or one of the others could be made to turn evidence Now, following in Crowe's footsteps, he edged round the side wall of the dark building The narrower windows of the servants1 quarters were also uncurtained and the rooms deserted. It was only when they had reached the yard at the back of the house that he heard the first faint animal sounds. Crowe laid a hand on his arm to still him. The silence was broken by a distant mewing, almost exactly like a kitten in distress. If the house itself had offered any sign of occupation, Verity would have dismissed this plaintive keening and given his attention elsewhere. Now, with Crowe listening intently beside him, he tried to distinguish the direction from which it might be coming.
Set back from the rear of the house, facing it across the yard, was a stable building whose wooden door stood half-open and derelict. The stable block, built of stone rather than brick, looked as though it might be part of a farm which had stood on the site before the riverside villa had taken its place. The two sergeants moved toward it and Crowe, for the first time, slid back the shutter on his dark lantern. Verity followed his example and they moved cautiously through the opening. Behind them, the rest of Captain Oliphant's party spread out to surround the stone building.
Inside the stable block the same scene of dereliction was repeated. The whitewash had peeled from the stalls and the rotting straw on the floor was black with the slime of decay. But now the mewing was louder and more frantic, coming from somewhere above their heads. Facing them, and dividing the stable block into two, was a wooden partition, about six feet high. Above this, the building was open from end to end, but the partition separated the animals from the store of fodder. A cottage door with a latch was set in the centre of the partition to allow access. Verity raised his lamp, looked up toward the rafters beyond the wooden division and emitted a long breath of horror. There was another sound which was now audible, a gentle hiss like a tap with an ill-fitting washer. But it required no sound to demonstrate the hideous details of the death which Dacre had prepared for his traitress.
Attached by four bonds at wrists and ankles, Miss Jolly hung from the high beam, her body twisting and arching in terror, an urgent mewing penetrating the cloth which filled her mouth. The hissing came from a speck of red light, rising slowly in the dark to the place where she hung. At first Verity thought she was entirely nude. Then his lamp caught the burning tail of the slow fuse, now hanging only a few inches below the base of her spine. Dacre had sheathed part of the fuse and left other sections open, to burn against her with appalling effect. He had trussed Miss Jolly with it as though harnessing her for some erotic game. It ran several times round the smooth gold of her slim nude waist, then following the intimate clefts and sensitive buds of her body. The final length of cord ran to a wooden keg on the beam itself, apparently containing enough powder to give the victim her quietus and blow the entire building to pieces.
When he positioned Jolly and lit the fuse, several hours before, Dacre had calculated Verity's reaction. In the horror of the moment, Verity could think only that the glow-worm spark of the fuse would touch the back of the girl's bare waist in a few seconds more. She was already arching up her belly frantically, as though this would postpone contact with the sputtering fire. There was no time for reason, no time for anything other than action.
Verity sprang forward, half-turning to smash his shoulder into the flimsy latch-door of the partition and burst the fastening. He was in mid-stride when Crowe's voice rang in his ear at the pitch of a scream.
‘Stop!’
At first he thought that Crowe had misunderstood his intention and that the alarm in his voice was unwarranted. Then he had a glimmer of recollection: the after-deck of the Fidele and Verney Dacre, apparently sitting with docile resignation on the upturned life-raft. He checked his stride. Crowe shouted again.
'Not the door!'
And then Crowe was beside him. The Marine cupped his hands as a stirrup. Verity lodged his foot, snatched the top of the partition and was over it in a second. He fell to the floor on the other side, picked himself up, and turned round to where Crowe was just landing.
'Knife, Mr Crowe! On my shoulders with it! She ain't more 'n twelve feet up! Just reach that smouldering cord!'
He dipped again, to let Crowe crouch with his feet on the plump shoulders. Then, using every resource of his powerful body, Verity straightened up, lifting the crouching Marine until Crowe could balance sufficiently to stand upright, knife in hand as his arms reached for the slow burning fuse. Verity gripped Crowe's ankles to give him purchase and heard the girl's stifled cries of urgency above him. At last Crowe gave a gasp.
'Right, Verity. Safe enough. Now she can be fetched down.'
Verity helped his companion down, then turned to the door in the wooden partition. Attached to the bar of the l
atch on the inner side was a black metal cylinder, the size of a large tankard. From it, a short length of cord hung down into an iron pot below. Now that he was facing it, Verity saw that the open top of the cylinder cast the faintest wavering light on the roof above. It was this which Crowe had seen and he had not. Now it was easy enough to imagine how the movement of the latch, had he tried to open the door, would have upset the flame in the cylinder, igniting the oiled fuse and carrying fire down into the big iron pot below. With extreme caution, Verity dipped a hand into that pot and felt the dry grains of powder run through his fingers.
'Easy!' said Crowe, meticulously detaching the cylinder with its concealed flame, while Verity dragged away the pot. 'One finger on that latch outside, one good thump on the door, and you'd have been accompanying the heavenly choir. There's enough powder in that thing to take you, me, Miss Jolly and the entire building up to the stars and back.'
'That's it, Mr Crowe! He knew we'd find our way here! He was sure of it! And he'd have got us all in one go!'
Forgetting even to thank Crowe for his timely warning, Verity strode to the stable entrance and ordered the guards to remain outside. He and Crowe took down the long stable-ladder from it’s hooks and began to climb to the beam. Preparing himself for shrill squeals of terror or muted sobs of gratitude, Verity detached the gag with great gentleness. The dark eyes slanted savagely and he froze at the volume of obscenities which the girl emitted. Even though they were directed, as a form of hysterical relief, against her absent tormentor, he was shocked by them. He detached the cord of the dead fuse where it ran round the slim thighs, the waist, between the legs and buttocks, over the belly and breasts. Prepared though he was for Dacre's homicidal cruelties, he was reduced to speechlessness by this.
'Now, miss,' he said at length, 'I gotta take you on my shoulder, fireman style. Just let your head and arms hang down my back, and don't worry. All set then?'
He held her by the slim brown waist, as though she had been no more weight than a child, and laid her over his right shoulder, his arm crooked protectively round her legs. He was uneasily aware of the smooth warmth of Miss Jolly's bare hip against the side of his face. She wriggled a little.
‘I don't need a hand just there, thank you!' she said shrilly, and then, 'Make him stop touching me like that!'
Sergeant Crowe, descending the ladder a few feet below, looked up.
'One more word,' he said angrily, 'and you'll get something that'll make you wish you were back with Lieutenant Dacre!'
This provoked the final release from shock, a deep ascending wail which burst into violent sobs. As they reached the ground and she was set on her feet, the trim dark beauty threw herself, howling, into Verity's arms. Instinctively he reached round her to hold her.
'Now, now, miss,' he said reassuringly, 'it ain't so bad as that. It's all done and over with.'
His left hand was against the back of her waist, his right palm lying round the left cheek of her bottom. Suddenly aware of this, he tried to withdraw, feeling her wriggle determinedly after him.
'Now, now!' he said, allowing himself the luxury of reproving her wantonness by an affectionate little pat. 'Now, now! There ain't no call for that at all!'
19
Sergeant Crowe stared out across the steamer's rail at the thin red and black strata of the tall cliffs of the Pallisades. As the cheers of New York faded on the morning air, the Harriet Lane's paddles beat up-river, carrying the Prince of Wales to the grand military review at West Point.
'Should have done it,' said Crowe bitterly. 'All the powder taken out into the open space behind, a torch set to it, and a blaze in the sky that Dacre could have seen wherever he was. That way, he'd count you, and me, and Miss Jolly as dead. And there might have been an end of the matter.'
'Best as it is, Mr Crowe,' said Verity firmly. He was standing with his big barge-shaped boots planted firmly astride, his plump face set grimly under the stove-pipe hat, as he scowled at the passing scenery of the Hudson.
'Best for who?' Crowe inquired.
'Mr Crowe, you having had less to do with Lieutenant Dacre than some, p'raps all you want is to see the back of 5im. For some of us it's different. Three years since, I was bloody near dismissed in disgrace and tried for murder in Mr Dacre's place. You saw, last night, what he tried to do to that unfortunate young person. I saw what he did to her three years ago. More stripes 'n a zebra. I want 'im Mr Crowe - and I'm bloody going to have him too! The only way that can be is if he knows his devilish tricks at River Gate never worked and that he's gotta try again. Just let 'im, Mr Crowe, that's all!'
'You think he'll follow you back to England?'
'Risky, Mr Crowe. Risky. More like he'll try it here.'
'Not a chance, my friend. Every last place for the rest of the tour is checked tighter than a virgin's honour. They've got West Point sealed off at the landward end of the promontory. As for the two places where a man could come ashore across the river, there's not a chance for him there. On top of which, there's three or four hundred troops and cadets on the post!'
Verity frowned in disapproval.
'Mr Crowe, it 'as been observed before that there's no time for making fools of men so good as when they think themselves safe beyond question.'
As the mountains closed in on either side of the river and the current ran faster in its narrower channel, the paddles of the Harriet Lane beat hard and loud. Majestic cliffs crowned with woodland echoed the sound as the steamer broke the deep silence of the hills. Ravens, hawks and buzzards, startled from their wilderness, rose and wheeled high above the mastheads. Brown and ruby-coloured foliage seemed almost to reach the wisps of low October cloud, through whose haze the dimmed sun turned the light and shade of the hills to gold and purple. The calm mirror of the Hudson reflected and deepened the gorgeous tints. Sergeant Verity, deep in thought, glowered at the passing beauty.
It was just after one o'clock when the steamer came in sight of a promontory, above whose steep cliffs there appeared rows of buildings, the ground behind rising still higher to what looked like a ruined fort. Sergeant Crowe made signs of preparation as the telegraph bell rang for half speed and the steamboat nosed gently toward the little mole, which marked the southern landing of the United States Military Academy at West Point. Distantly and far above them, they heard the deep booming reverberation of a cannon which signalled the opening of a royal salute.
Taking their place in the rear of the party as usual, Verity and Crowe went ashore, standing well back, as Colonel Delafield, the commandant, welcomed his young visitor at the landing. The guard of honour, in cadet grey with frogged tunics and bell-crowned black caps, snapped into the drill of presenting arms with smacking precision. At this signal, the military band opened a preliminary drum roll and struck up a clash of cymbals.
God save our gracious Queen . . .
During the two anthems, Verity stood rigidly to attention, only his eyes moving as he took a survey of the place. High above the rest rose the casemented strongpoint of Fort Putnam. Lower down, on a plateau, were the main blocks, grouped round the parade ground. The cadet mess and the cavalry stables, as well as the riding hall, accompanied these. The impression was one of granite solidity and absolute control. Yet Verity had put himself in Dacre's position, and he could almost predict what must happen now.
Apart from motionless formations of the cadets, grey uniforms on a grey windy space, the breeze whipping and snapping at the flags of two nations, the central area was bright with the green and pink dresses of the young men's mothers and sisters, the dark suits of fathers and brothers, who were privileged guests on this grand occasion. With Crowe beside him, Verity once again stood back, keeping unobtrusive observation as the young Prince, in company with the commandant, rode forward on his bay horse. The cadet formations marched and countermarched with a balletic precision, swinging at last to pass the Prince in a formal salute.
The parade ended and the Prince accompanied his hosts to the superintendent's
house, with its verandah and the deep richness of its creeper. Verity and Crowe assumed their places, at ease, with their backs to the building, on either side of the front door. They were to remain in position while the royal party took tea with the commandant, the superintendent, and the professors of the academy. It was about ten minutes after the two sergeants had taken up their guard that Crowe saw Verity killed.
It happened with such speed, and so little warning, that there was nothing which could have been done to ward off the attack. This time it was Crowe who heard the ominous whizz! whizz! of flying metal, and the rapid pattering of shot as it pitted the rendering on the wall behind him. He saw Verity thrown back against the wall, arms and legs out, as though by some invisible force. He watched the limp body slither down the rendered wall and topple over so that it lay on its back, arms flung out and eyes fixed glassily on the grey sky above.
Shocked into immobility for a moment, Crowe stared at the fallen sergeant and then sprang forward to the iron railings which separated the leafy garden of the house from the roadway beyond. There was no sign of the assassin, merely a few family groups in which individual cadets in their full dress strolled nonchalantly with proud mothers or adoring sisters. Regardless of his own safety, he ran across the road into the trees beyond and looked helplessly about him. It took no more than a few seconds before he was racing back to where the corpse of Sergeant Verity lay. He stooped over his fallen friend.
' 'ere, Mr Crowe!' said the corpse, still glassy-eyed. 'Did I do all right, Mr Crowe? Don't let yer lips move! Talk like I'm doing, 'e gotta think I'm dead, Mr Crowe. I twigged it as soon as I heard that shot in the air.'
'Damnation!' said Crowe, stiff-lipped and breathless with relief. 'What sort of game is this, for God's sake?'
'Into the house, Mr Crowe! Board and sheet! Let 'im see me carried in with a shroud over me. Bet yer a penny to a pound he'll be watching from somewhere!'
Sergeant Verity and the Blood Royal Page 23
